**SEQUEL TO BREAKING THE ICE**
Liam Astor is home. Home where his family is. Home where is skating partner stayed. Home where he trains every day to make his Olympic dreams come true. Home, where he had to throw himself into his career, so he doesn'...
Chloe and I placed first at the US Figure Skating Championships.
It was our second gold and fifth consecutive US Championships medal.
I should be on cloud nine hundred.
And I am.
Truly.
We are national champions. On Team USA. Heading for the Winter Olympics. Our plans are underway. Dreams on the borderline of becoming reality.
It's amazing.
And all I want is to talk to him.
I want to tell him about how amazing it all is. I want him to tell me how amazing it is. That he's happy for me. I want to smile at my phone and be happy together.
My parents are currently in their living room, with my little sister and my grandma. And Chloe, and James, and Chloe's parents, and Chloe's brother, and our coach Helga, and even Gus and Nat. They're all here to celebrate us. Our victory.
Meanwhile, I'm sitting on the stairwell in the lobby, staring at the black screen of my phone, hoping for a notification that won't come.
Gus emerges from the door, halfway into his coat. It doesn't look like he sees me.
"Hey."
He jumps a little, turning his head to look at me with wide eyes. "Hey."
"Where are you going?"
"Oh." He looks back to where he came from. Where he probably slipped away from, without being noticed. Like I did.
"Are you leaving?"
"Yeah," he says almost sheepishly.
"Why?"
"Uhm." He shrugs. "Headache."
"Mh. Is it serious?"
"Probably not. Just need to lie down."
I frown.
Even before he didn't place on the podium on this year's nationals, Gus had already been acting strange. Withdrawn. Quiet. Almost hostile, when pushed to speak.
I look at him as he stands at the bottom of the stairs, halfway to the door, looking out of place.
"Sure. Call if you need anything," I say, because I figure it's better than asking him if he's okay and forcing him to say 'yes' without meaning it.
Gus nods, looking a little surprised. Then he leaves.
My phone buzzes almost on cue, and I nearly drop it in the rush to check my messages.
It's only Mack, though.
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I set my phone next to me on the steps and lean my head against the wall.
I should be over the moon, being painfully obnoxious to my friends and family about my winning streak while they let me get away with it because I've earned it. Instead, I feel almost hollowed out.
